A Khajiit in King's Landing
by The Cowgirl Bookworm
Summary: Kirah, the Dragoborn, must journey to Westeros to prevent the coming of the Others. Will she succeed? Will she lose? Will she smack Joffrey like the little twerp deserves?
1. Chapter 1

Kirah lounged as she waited, as much lounging as one could do stalking a werebear. The Beast Blood inside her called to be with her kin, but her mind held firm. The werebears were preying on her Skaal friends, and she'd be damned to Oblivion if she let another one die. She was just lining up the shot, reveling in the cold that emanated from her new Deathbrand armor when the portal opened. The black and purple sphere of Oblivion swirled for a moment, before disgorging a Flame Atronatch right at her. The arrow caught the thing right between its fiery breasts as she launched herself at the wizard that had obviously accompanied the werebear. When both were dead, she wiped her blade along the werebear's fur, standing up.

That was when the Morag Tong decided to make themselves known.

They didn't speak, merely attacking her. Kirah reveled in the battle, the slash of her claws through their armor, the way Mehrune's Razor would merely snick a man and he would fall down dead. Finally, she searched the bodies, coming up with the writ of execution. _Unlawful guild of assassins? The Night Mother would love that. _She was just considering a trip to Dawnstar when she heard the rumbling voice. "**Dovahkiin**!"

Kirah growled, lashing her tail back and forth. The Greybeards always had impeccable timing, calling her just as she was beginning to plan something. She shelved the though of Dawnstar, instead Shouting for Odahviing. The massive red dragon settled by her a few moments later, turning his head to speak. "To High Hrothgar, _briinah_?" _Sister, he thinks he's being funny again._

"Yes, my old friend. _Bo_." She replied, settling herself down behind his head. She hastily grabbed the spike in front of her. Not that she feared flying, no it was more the taking off and the landing. Odahviing was always so hasty, and she feared being dropped. The _dov _in her reveled at the chance to fly, and she felt like roaring. But the joy passed all to soon, for the Throat of the World appeared, and with it the Greybeards, waiting in their courtyard.

Master Arnegeir, while never quite willing to use the word friend, would still say he was close to the Dragonborn. She had come to him late at night, speaking of Blades and Paarthurnax. When he had advised against killing the dragon, she had nodded. The next day she was up at the summit, laughing with the old beast. He had heard no more of the Blades, but he had not heard from the Dragonborn for quite sometime. And now she stood before him, dressed in armor that seemed to be made of ice, and a helmet with ridiculous horns on it. He almost smiled, almost. "Your taste in armor never fails to fascinate me."

Her tail lashed, and he could see the fur on her face whip in the wind. "You've never had any variety. Kirah prefers to remain the odd one out. What would happen if Kirah became known for one armor, and some mangy thief stole it?"

"I doubt a thief would steal from you. Aren't you in charge of them?" Arnegeir chided back. The Dragonborn smiled, catching him in a hug. By Kynareth, that armor was cold! She let him go, bouncing on her feet.

"Why have you called me, Arnegeir? What can this one do for you? Does someone need to die? Preferably someone named Delphine?" Kirah almost chuckled at the look on his face. She had begged to chase down Delphine, drag her back to Paarthurnax, and force her to see the error of her ways before throwing her off the mountain. Odahviing thought it would be fun, Arengeir, no so much.

Aregeir frowned. "No, Paarthurnax wishes to speak to you." Kirah nodded, then hopped back on Odahviing and flew to the summit. Why a creature of fire would prefer the coldness of this _strunmah_ she would never know. When he saw her, Paarthurnax playfully butted her before settling himself down. Kirah watched the old dragon, and she once more swore to herself that no hard would ever befall him. When he was comfortable, he turned to her.

"_Drem Yol_ _Lok_,_ Dovahkiin_." He began, then he commenced with the topic he desired. "I have felt something in the world. A force that has not stirred for thousands of years. But it is weak, on the other side of the world from here."

"And you wish me to seek it out?"

"_Geh_. My wings are to tired to fly that far. Odahviing could take you, if he wishes."

The red dragon flames happily. "Let us go Thuri!"

"Odahviing, we don't even know where it is." Kirah rolled her eyes. "Please, Paarthurnax. Continue."

The older dragon chuckled slightly. "It is a land far to the west, past Hammerfell and past Tamriel altogether. The only way to reach it, aside from a three year sea voyage, is on a _dov_. You will pass a large land before it, but the place you are going is called Westeros. Speak to men in the cities on the land, find a way across. The people have not seen _dovah _for many years. They will be frightened."

"Yes, but why do we go?"

"I felt a great chill, a cold that would sweep over the land and across the ocean. Seas would turn to ice, and Tamriel would fall. Either deal with it, or convince the people of the land to."

Kirah stood, bowing to the dragon. "I will. We will leave within the week."

* * *

Odahviing growled as she secured the last bit of her belongings onto his back. "I was not meant to be a pack horse!"

Kirah ignored him, making sure that everything sat well. She had brought all that she thought she needed. The massive saddlebags she had commissioned for Odahviing contained enough to make the most seasoned thief drool. Daedric artifacts, enchanted weapons and armor, more jewels and gold than even a king could desire. Books, both for writing in and reading, made a stable base for her to pack wine and ale on. There was more food than she would probably need, but it was all for the best. Two young girls watched her clamber off of the dragon, tears on their faces. A red headed Nord stood by them.

"Bryn," Kirah tasted the word. It was strong, steady. He would stay, he had to. "Take care of them."

"You take care of yourself." He replied, kissing her brow. The two young girls came forward, and she picked them up in a hug.

"Runa, Sofie. I'll be back. I swear it."

And with that, the Dragonborn mounted up and flew away.


	2. Chapter 2

Odahviing circled above the city, high enough that he would look like a bird to anyone who happened to glance up. Kirah leaned over his side, watching the land below. Weeks of travel had finally brought them to the first land Paarthurnax said they would find. They had flown over grasslands, mountains and deserts without any sign of a city. But below them spread the patchwork of streets and buildings that heralded a city. She could spy three different harbors, all occupied by large galleys. _Good, galleys mean taverns. A chance to plan before we make our way to this Westeros. _Odahviing flew to settle down out of sight of the city. Odahviing chuckled when she asked him to turn away as she changed her armor. "You _joore _are always so scared. You don't see me panicking like that when someone sees me."

Kirah stepped out from the bush she had changed behind. "Kirah does not have scales to hide her body. Would you like to have your scales gone, and then go into battle?" Odahviing merely grunted at that. She plunged a hand into one of his saddlebags, pulling out a mask. She gently ran her fingers over it. "Hevnoraak."

Odahviing perked up a little. "Why would you wear that?"

"In case some fool tries to poison Kirah." She replied, drawing it over her head. The cloth backing hid her ears, the mask her face. She looked back, watching her tail sway. She managed to wrangle it so that it fit down a pant leg, even though it cost her a bit of balance.

Odahviing laughed as she wrestled with her Nightingale Armor. "The shadows? You don't want to go in there and break a few necks?"

"If there's one thing I have learned from the Dark Brotherhood, gathering information is just as important as the kill." Kirah muttered as she strapped on the Blade of Woe she had received from Astrid and her Nightingale blade. _Just in case there is anything your claws cannot handle, always be prepared little one. Keep it sharp, and always be ready._ Her mother's words echoed in her mind, sending her back to her tent in the wastelands of Elsewyr. She could still feel the soft leather of the grip, but when she opened her eyes all she saw was air. She shook the memory away, walking towards the city.

It was a city of life, of people swirling themselves around. She saw no Khajiit or Argonians, but there were all sorts of no-tails. Whores and swordsmen, hanging drunk off of each other. She kept her senses open, and once she was sure she wasn't being tailed, she slipped into a dark alley. An Illusion spell sprung to life in her hands, showing her a white trail that would lead to the taverns. With a grunt, Kirah released the spell.

The place she settled on was seedy, filled with hard men just off of their ship. She found a likely looking table, and sent a quick prayer to the Divines that she could understand the man. His dress was slightly richer than the others, probably the captain of some merchant ship. He looked over his tankard at her. "Who're you?" His voice was slightly slurred, but she understood him.

Kirah set a Septim down on the table. "A woman seeking information."

"Name?"

Kirah paused for a moment. "Dar-Zariba." The name made her lips rise. _Thief in the Night, indeed._

"Hmph, Dar. That's a fairly stupid name."

"This one thinks that your name might be stupid to her." Kirah set another Septim on the table. "This once seeks news of a land called Westeros. If the man does not know, Zariba is sure she could find answers with another man."

The sailor eyed the gold. "Two dragons aren't enough to get me talking."

"Perhaps ten would be more to your liking?"

"I'm thinking twenty." He grunted, then gasped as Kirah grabbed his collar with one hand, her dagger with the other. "Easy now, ten is fine. What do you want to know?"

Kirah released her grip slightly. "What is this Westeros? Who rules? Is there a Jarl or High King?"

"The Sunset Kingdoms, a beautiful place. Whoever holds the Iron Thrones rules, and right now five different kings are vying for it. Good business for us, they'll pay anything for food and iron."

Kirah pressed down a frustrated growl. "They aren't united?"

"Nah, at each other's throat." He replied. Kirah pulled out a handful of Septims, dropping them in his palm as she strode out. "Hey, these aren't dragons! What are you trying to pull?" His voice was cut off as the door closed, and Kirah melted away into the shadows.

* * *

Kirah threw Henvoraak away as she approached Odahviing. Some unfortunate beast was being chewed on, the first non-fish meal he had eaten in weeks. With a huff she settled down, freeing her tail from her pant leg. He gulped down the last bit, then turned to her. "Well, are we moving on? Did you learn everything you needed?"

"Tomorrow." Kirah wanted to growl, instead she settled for shouting flame from her mouth. The taverns and dives she had visited confirmed what the first had said. Westeros was in turmoil, torn asunder by war. _Can't they see what is coming? The Empire and the Stormcloaks were willing to sit down and talk and make peace while I dealt with Alduin. Are these people so different? Or just blind?_

Odahviing settled himself by her. "Not good, huh?"

"Those fools." Kirah sighed. "It's the Civil War all over again. Ignoring the main threat because of petty differences. It makes Kirah want to dig her claws into their skulls and slam them together until some form of sense comes back to them."

"Why do you speak like that? You don't hear me saying 'Odahviing the great and mighty wants to go burn the city to the ground.'"

Kirah shrugged. "It's from home. Sometimes we worry that the Divines and Daedra will forget who we are if we do not speak out names. That they would think we were mere house cats and ignore our prayers. So many people have tried to strip us of our names, to turn us into beasts, that we hold our names close." She looked over. The red dragon's eyes had drifted shut, and he was breathing steadily. She elbowed the dragon sharply, even though it hurt her more than him. Kirah retrieved her mask, settled herself down on the sand, and yanked Odahviing's wing over her to form a tent. He didn't respond, but she could feel a slight growl.

Underneath her fierce protector, Kirah fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The trip to Westeros took longer than she would have thought. A day of flying, so high up that ice formed with every breath. It was nothing to Odahviing, who kept warm with the fire within, but Kirah huddled in her armor, flame covered hands warming her. Finally, she could make out land. It was good land, covered in grasses and trees. She could see farms, tended by their owners. Flocks of sheep ran through parts of it, herds of cattle lowing as they passed overhead. Odahviing found a deserted spot, a good place on a hill, and settled down.

"Well Dovahkiin, what now?" He asked, arranging his wings just so.

Kirah pulled some dry, dead wood over, lighting it with a simple spell. "We find whoever is in charge."

"And where would they be?"

"Well, one of the men I spoke to said something about a Red Keep, so I guess we just look for a big red castle." Kirah shrugged, and set to work polishing her dragonscale armor. It had survived the trip, her enchantments sparkling on the surface. Her dragonbone dagger, and swords sat in front of her.

"I will not lie, it is disturbing to see the bones of other Dov used as such."

Kirah set down her oil cloth. "These are the best weapons I could make. Sharp, strong, and befitting a Dovahkiin."

"The Blades took that one sword from you, correct?"

"Dragonbane." Even the name sent shivers up her spine. Her tail twitched, stirring up dirt. "Aye, before I could even learn the enchantment. But these work just as well."

Odahviing nudged her, almost knocking her over. "I am glad you value the life of Paarthurnaax more than a sword."

"As am I." She replied, scratching the scales nearest to his nose. He could never reach them himself, and acted like a puppy when she would scratch them. "Odahviing, when we find this Red Keep, let me approach on my own."

The dragon snorted, flames leaping from his nostrils. "Why? Have they not seen a Dov before?"

"I do not think so, can you not feel it, friend? The magic in this land, it's almost gone."

"Not gone." Ohahviing argued. "Merely sleeping."

* * *

The court in King's Landing had gathered for the day, even Sansa Stark sat quietly off to the side, attempting to blend in to the wall behind her. Sandor Clegane, his massive half burned visage a warning, stood below the dais of the king. There was the usual business to attend to, petitioners, traitors, the business of running a kingdom. Well, the more public side. The Small Council took care of any major events. This was more to make the king look good.

_It's not easy to make that little shit Joffrey loveable. _Sandor thought as he looked out over the people gathered. Bunch of foppy lords and ladies. His ears perked up as he heard booted steps, mail clinking, swords and arrows shifting. His hand went to his pommel, his eyes to Sansa. She met his eyes for a moment, then looked away. Coming up the court, escorted by a Gold Cloak on either side, was the strangest creature he had ever seen.

It wore what looked like dragon skin, its helmet consisting of more of the skin and horns. The figure had a sword strapped to either side, a dagger on a belt next to a purse, and a bow and quiver on its back. What startled him was the face beneath. It wasn't human.

It looked like some housecat had decided to stand on two legs, grab its masters arms and armor, and strike off on its own. A collective murmur ran through the crowd, especially when a tail peeked out from beneath the armor. The beast stopped in front of the Iron Throne, removing its helmet. That did nothing else to calm the crowd, for two ears immediately sprang up, and it shook its head. Some of its hair had grown longer, and was braided back and secured with golden charms. More were stuck into its ears, and jingled when they moved.

"Gods, what is it?" Joffrey called from the throne.

The figure smiled, displaying fangs that would have made a direwolf proud. "This one has the pleasure of being known as Kirah. A Khajiit." It spoke with a female voice, deeper than he would have expected.

"A beast!" The boy laughed, and a few in the court followed suit. Clegane watched her, noting the way her hands twitched towards the swords on her side. Whatever she was, she was dangerous. "Ser Boros, Ser Meryn. I just had a wonderful idea, this one can be Lady Sansa's pet. A kitten instead of a direwolf." The court laughed louder at that, pleased by the king's wit. Sandor merely grunted. The other knights of the Kingsguard stepped forward, reaching for her arms. Kirah backed up.

"I have news to tell you. Words that will not please your ears, but save your lives." She protested, stepping farther away from the grasping hands of the men in white armor. "This one means no harm, but will defend herself." One of them grabbed her arms, the other her feet. Kirah called them ever word she could think of, even a few Khajiit curses, such as calling them declawed pets. Finally, through a great deal of squalling and hissing she was deposited in some room, far from who she needed to speak to.

Kirah ran to the window, looking out over the city. It was too high to jump from, even if she used Become Ethereal. Growling, she did the only thing she could think of. She stuck her head out of the window, shouting. "Yol Toor Shul!"

Fire leapt from her lips, and the smallfolk would swear the next day that the king had captured a dragon.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa Stark had never been one to be brave as it were. None of the maidens in her stories were brave, but when she opened the door to her room, she felt brave. Her rooms looked much like they had before, except for a few shredded pillows that used to be whole. She looked at the figure reclining on the windowsill, its tail flopping rhythmically against the wall. It held the helmet from its armor in its hands, rolling it over and over. It actually seemed to be upset, mourning almost.

Strangest of all, it was singing.

"_Dragonborn, Dragonborn  
By her honor is sworn  
To keep evil forever at bay  
And the fiercest foes route  
When they hear triumph's shout  
Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray_"

"Is that your god?" Sansa asked, immediately wishing she could stuff the words back into her mouth. The cat creature quieted, staring at the helmet. Sansa was just about to say something when it spoke.

Its voice was nothing like she had expected. It was smooth, sad almost. Definitely female. Nothing like the proud voice it had used in the throne room. "No little one, the Dragonborn is no god. The Dragonborn walks among the races of Nirn, bringing victory to those he meets. The Dragonborn is a great warrior, fearless in battle and wielder of the Thu'um. There is no foe he cannot best, no treasure he cannot claim. I have the misfortune to be the Dragonborn." She turned her head, and Sansa saw her eyes flash in the dark. "You may call me Kirah."

Sansa fumbled for some response. "S-Sansa. Sansa of House Stark."

Kirah stepped off of the windowsill, landing lightly on her feet. She tossed her helmet on the table, letting it rest against her swords and bow. The majority of her armor was piled in a chair, only her under-tunic and breaches remained. She smiled, barring fangs as sharp as knives. "Well, Sansa of House Stark, how about we get comfortable, and you can tell me everything I want to know." Sansa watched her stalk over to the hearth, stack wood up, and then she shrieked when Kirah's palm leapt with fire. Kirah's ears pinned back, and she glared at the girl. "It will not hurt you, I thought you might be cold." She let the spell jump from her palm to the wood, and soon a fire was crackling merrily.

Sansa tried to regain her breath. "What was that?"

Kirah dusted some soot off of her paws. "Magic, but this one would hazard that you have never seen such before." Kirah settled herself down on an intact pillow, gesturing for Sansa to join her. Sansa did, sitting across from the Khajiit. As she did, her sleeve brushed p her arm, revealing mottled black and blue bruises. Kirah hissed at that. Sansa gave a whimper as her arm was suddenly caught in the other's vice-like grip. "Who did this to you?"

Sansa scrambled for a lie. "I fell, onto a chair."

A snort. "This one knows falling, this is not falling. The truth, if you would."

"The king," Sansa spoke in a whisper, unwilling to speak that horrible boy's name. "He has the Kingsguard beat me. My brother is against him in a war, and he punishes me for his victories."

Kirah blinked, once, then twice. Things were more desperate than she imagined. She drew in a breath, tapping into the magic that was just beyond her mind. She let it flow through, wrapping her hand in golden light that laughingly went from her to Sansa. The patient felt the warm glow, and she felt like she had just eaten a warm bowl of soup as the warmth moved throughout her body, healing bruises and scrapes and cuts. The light faded, and Sansa for once could say she felt good. She examined her healed arm, surprise in her voice. "Was that more magic?"

A nod. "A healing spell." Kirah sounded winded for a moment. "It cannot fix broken bones, but it can heal what you had."

Sansa looked over at this, this creature that was to be her 'pet'. "Thank you."

Kirah bared her fangs in another smile. "It was noting, kit." Her paw reached over to a table, bringing back a bottle of wine, shortly followed by two cups, a black of cheese and some grapes. "Now, tell me everything you know."


End file.
